Forgive Me
by Eileniessa
Summary: When Ciri runs away to see the Witcher for the last time, Yennefer and Geralt meet face to face after several long years apart and it seems that at last, they might have found their something more...


**Minado996 (Tumblr): For the prompt list, either 31 or 57 for Geralt and Yen? Only if you want to, though!**

Nearly 200 Writing Prompts.

(31 Angst) **" I fucked up. "**

(57 Love) **" Is that my shirt? "**

* * *

 **Steve Maraboli, Unapologetically You: Reflections on Life and the Human Experience**

"The truth is, unless you let go, unless you forgive yourself, unless you forgive the situation, unless you realize that the situation is over, you cannot move forward."

* * *

 _Stupid girl! As ignorant and stubborn as a damned Witcher!_

Twisting black clouds rolled overhead and spread across the sky with unnatural speed and direction. They plunged the land into near darkness, blocking out most of the night's ghostly light as they covered the moon and the stars. A fierce wind raced beside it, tearing roots and branches as it swept through the forest and though she did not fly against it, it pulled at her feathers and got caught in her wings. She was dragged closer to the ground and struggled to stay beyond the reach of fallen trees and rocks as she followed the causeway to Hirundum.

There was a darkness looming high above her, she felt it in her bones but knew not what form the shadows would take. This storm did not herald rain and instead foretold of something far more sinister and dangerous. A shiver crept down her spine and pulled its thin, cold fingers through her tight chest. She was afraid, terribly afraid, though not an ounce of that fear was self-indulgent. There was a girl out there in the darkness, lost and alone, and she knew not the threat of this storm. Yennefer wanted to be angry at her for running away and causing her such trouble, but she was too worried to do so. She hoped to find Ciri before it was too late and could not bear the thought of losing her.

The Sorceress watched through the eyes of her magic kestrel, guiding it along the causeway while she stood, in a trance, in one of Gors Velen's bathhouses. Tucked inside the warm, stuffy room, Yennefer could feel the force of the storm as though she were there. Her skin was cold and sore, her face had gone numb, her arms were bruised and beaten and when she inhaled she filled her lungs with cold air which chilled her to the bone and sucked the life out of her. Not even the harsh climate of Skellige could match the icy breath of this storm.

Yennefer lost track of time as the night stretched on endlessly and the road remained empty and quiet. She tried to climb higher into the air for a better lay of the land, but each time the wind beat her down and forced her to keep level with the treetops. The strength of the storm was growing quickly while Yennefer's slipped through her fingers. The Sorceress held her breath and focused, willing the bird to fly faster and granting it access to her power to aid its flight. The link which bound them tightened and heat burst across her chest and licked the back of her throat. She trembled as the bird's wings began to beat faster, it cut through the wind with ease but soon weakened and demanded more from her. A murmur sounded in the back of her mind and echoed faintly inside her foggy head. _Yenna! Yenna slow down! You're draining yourself too quickly, stop..._ Yennefer thought she could feel hands around her waist and on the small of her back but couldn't tell the difference between herself and the kestrel anymore.

For several more minutes, she flies along the causeway without a trace of Ciri to guide her or offer some relief to her weary heart, until she spots a small light on the horizon buried deep within the forest. Yennefer hesitates, and cursing she leaves the road. The wind begins to scream and wail, its cries painfully human. High up in the sky ahead some of the clouds begin to swirl and thicken and stretch down towards the trees, creeping towards the light. Lightning crackles and explodes across the forest and Yennefer's hairs stand on end. Her eyes are drawn towards a strange mass of clouds moving across her path and she catches flashes of red eyes within that push her sense of fear into new dimensions.

She is almost upon the light and soon flies over the causeway once more. The clattering of hooves occasionally breaks past the wind's howling and she spies the outline of a lone rider racing up the road towards a small clearing in which the light flickers, its glow permeating the darkness around the farmhouse. _Ciri. Hirundum._ Out of the corner of her eye, Yennefer sees the dark clouds veer towards her. She dives to the ground and a shrill scream pierces her ear. Yennefer's sight goes black and her arm burns. The link tugs at her chest and she inhales sharply, the bird's eyes flicker open and gaze up at the sky. The darkness is passing over her and closing in on the rider.

The Sorceress pulls back and severs the connection with her bird. Her heart seems to still in her chest and she feels herself falling and falling as something pulls her down and steals her breath. White spots of light dance in front of her eyes when her mind surfaces. Tissa and Rita stare at her as she rubs her eyes and speak hurridly to her, but Yennefer does not hear them. She brushes them off and faces the wall, tightly closing her eyes. In the blackness, her mind's eye sees a pair of dull violet eyes looking at her as the kestrel's weak heartbeat sounds in her ears. She reaches out a hand to the bird, trying to feel its life beneath her palm, searching for it desperately. Its eyes begin to slide shut and silence presses against her. The bird's last heartbeats echo inside her head and she grasps its heart in her hand and feels static pricking her skin.

Yennefer is almost knocked off her feet by the wind as it comes at her from numerous directions, circling around her like an animal. Her hair billows around her, whipping and stinging her skin while the cold bites firmly into her exposed flesh. Turning her head side to side she searches for Ciri, but the sudden light of the bathhouse had landed her in complete darkness and she stumbles back several paces her lip trembling as the nothingness lays heavily across her chest. Yennefer reaches out a hand to steady herself and when her fingers brush against a rough surface she seizes it. A pang of cold stabs her palm and digs into her arm. Gasping she jerks back her hand and presses her elbows into her sides. As the darkness recedes, she can see now that the trunk is coated in ice.

A crack of lightning sharply illuminates the causeway. She can see the familiar face of the rider clearly now and the fear painted boldly across it. Yennefer's hands shook by her sides and she narrowed her eyes. _Get away from my daughter!_ she screams. Another surge of light pushes back the darkness, the magic leaving her skin in goosebumps as it leaps from her fingers and hurtles towards the cloud bearing down on Ciri. The wind cries shrilly and the strange clouds rear back and pass high over the farmhouse and back into the night.

Yennefer rushes towards the girl as she dismounts, and then, she sees him standing on the other side of the road. _Geralt_... He looks at Ciri and then at her, his expression strange and unreadable. Her star twinkles dully as she holds it lightly between two fingers and stares at him. She can see the girl looking between them. Whichever way she walked, Yennefer wasn't ready to leave her, not for anything. But she wasn't prepared for this... To see him again, here, and with Ciri caught between them. She couldn't bring herself to step towards him, not until Ciri fell to the floor.

* * *

Ciri's pulse pushed against his fingertips as he knelt in the dirt beside her, a hand to her neck. He cast his eyes over her body, as much to reassure himself that she was alive and well as to distract him for Yennefer's closeness. A warm burst spread over his chest as he inhaled, the smell of lilac and gooseberries tickling the back of his throat as he drank the cold air greedily. His limp heart stirred and fluttered. He held his breath as she leant closer, hovering over Ciri with a hand pressed gently against the girl's forehead. The hairs on the back of his hand stood on end when her palm glowed with a warm white light and he drew them to his side.

Geralt didn't know what to do with himself and he turned his head to the sky to stop his eyes wandering astray. The clouds were dispersing and their darkness thinning out as the storm took flight to the sea. Moonlight inched over the forest and touched his skin and the Witcher felt oddly vulnerable and exposed under its gaze. A piece of hair tickled his nose and he made to tuck the loose strand behind her ear but caught himself, his hand awkwardly hanging between them. Yennefer seemed not to notice his indiscretion and without great thought, he risked a glimpse at her face.

Her eyes were alight and flushed with magic; they burned intensely in her pale face and contrasted uniquely with the soft finish of her expression. Despite the danger, Geralt couldn't help but stare. The memory of her beauty was sharp and cold in his mind and looked not at all like the woman beside him. It had been long since they last met and perhaps his memory had slipped and taken a false shape, but he was sure he could never forget a face like hers as it was now. His heart grew weak at the sight for he knew without a doubt that the warmth in her eyes was not for him to witness and he looked away fearing he'd seen too much.

He watched the Sorceress finish her spell and without a word they rose together, Geralt carrying Ciri in his arms. Side by side they walked up the causeway not once looking at each other or exchanging a sound and the tension made the Witcher wary and anxious. He listened to Dandelion's voice as he spoke with Bernie Hofmeier, a halfling and patriarch of the Hofmeier farm, beside the house, the latter scurrying inside. He saw the Bard bow his head in Yennefer's direction as they drew near and wordlessly, a term not usually applicable to the man, gestured for them to follow. He adjusted his eyes to the light as he stepped over the threshold and climbed up the creaking and narrow steps, dipping his head to avoid hitting the low ceiling. Yennefer's high heels tap tap tapped behind him and when they entered the bedroom she brushed past him and moved to the bed pulling back the covers.

They kept watch over Ciri for the rest of the night, sitting on opposite sides of the bed with a heavy silence between them. From time to time Geralt would look up and watch Yennefer out of the corner of his eye, but not once did he catch her doing the same and he felt a pang of grief for the loss of her attention. Too often had he fallen victim to her anger and yet now he would have welcomed her scorn and fury so that she would once again look upon his face and not hide her eyes from him behind long lashes and thick curls. He had done her great wrong, though he knew not how many of his actions she held against him, but she remained strangely silent and seemed unable to even acknowledge his presence. Geralt hurt to think that he'd caused her enough pain to extinguish her anger, for he saw that something worse had taken its place; a melancholy that did not lift with the rising sun.

Ciri did not stir with the rest of the house as the halflings day began with the first light of the new day and nor did he or Yennefer. He'd thought that perhaps by morning something might have changed, that maybe she'd be able to look him in the eye or scream his name, that he might have found his voice or cleared his head. Geralt couldn't remember when he'd started missing her, he'd lived with the burden for what seemed like an eternity and even now he missed her, the Yennefer who'd shared her life with him was gone. There was much that he wanted to say and yet no words by which he could convey what was on his mind. His heart beat against his chest trying to push him towards her, but he was afraid to reach out even though it seemed he had nothing to lose...not anymore.

The bed creaked as Ciri rolled around under the covers, turning her back on Yennefer and her face to him. He felt sorry for the poor girl, caught in between them with a part to play that she didn't deserve but had nevertheless. How could they expect her to chose? They couldn't, and that was the harsh truth of the matter. Something more than fate bound them together and had placed them in this room together, something still tying them together despite the distance that had grown between them. Geralt might not have had the strength to fix things with Yennefer if it remained only them in the picture, but now they had someone else to think of.

The Witcher closed his eyes and sighed. "Yennefer, can we speak outside...please?"

He watched her closely as he spoke, not hiding his gaze as he had done throughout the night. She made no sign that she'd heard his invitation, staring down at her hands her face hidden behind a curtain of hair, and Geralt began to worry that he'd already taken a wrong step. His weary heart dropped into his stomach and he didn't say another word, peering out of the window as though hoping he'd spot a means of escape on the horizon. He never needed it, however, as Yennefer stood up and walked out of the bedroom, hovering over the stairs until he followed her.

The house was bright and empty save for Dandelion, who was sleeping by the back door out of which they went. A handful of clouds floated overhead, weakly shielding them from the sun's glare as they walked to the edge of the forest. Yennefer halted under the shade of a willow and kept her back to him still, content for him to break the silence alone. Geralt stood behind her shuffling his feet, for he'd not thought much beyond getting her alone and now felt the pressure of the world upon his shoulders. He tried to think about what he might say but the longer he thought it over the heavier his sense of dread weighed upon him. Besides, what he'd thought was best had landed him here in the first place.

"I fucked up, Yennefer, I fucked up badly." Her hair shimmered and rippled like stars in the ocean as she reached up and plucked a leaf from one of the tree's hanging branches. He could hear her running her fingers over its surface as she listened and Geralt didn't know quite what to make of it. Was it better for her to be nervous, as he thought she was now, than angry or upset? All he knew for sure is that he found a peculiar sense of complacency in the sight of her familiar habit, perhaps because it was just that - something familiar amidst this mess.

"I should have asked you to come to Kaer Morhen from the start," he continued, "but I let my pride get in the way, and I regret that. I was wrong to not tell you what was happening, to not have trusted you sooner, Ciri should have been with us both then." Geralt paused and swallowed loudly, almost choking on the lump in his throat. He watched the leaf in Yennefer's hand slowly drift to the floor before it was picked up by the wind and carried towards the pond. There it floated for several seconds before a grey shape emerged from the water and snatched it up, disappearing with a splash. "Belleteyn, when last we met, you told me I needed to find her and you were right. I thought I'd regret taking her, that I'd mess up her life, but now I only regret that I'd not asked you to come with me. That night I deprived you of that which you most desired and because I was weak, I let it go on for too long. I should have found you after I found Ciri, should have spoken to you... I should have done...more."

The Witcher could just make out the faint pulse of Yennefer's pendant against the bark of the tree and knew that it kept her shaking fingers still. She reacted not to his words or the silence that he let slip between them and continued to stand with her back towards him. Geralt couldn't bear it. Stiffly he walked towards her and stood beside her under the willow feeling his pulse throbbing in his neck as though trying to break through his skin. He saw her body tense when he approached her and with great difficulty, he kept from looking at her face and instead watched the tree's long branches sway in the breeze.

"I want to ask for your forgiveness, but I fear there is too much to forgive and nothing worth forgiving." It wasn't until he'd spoken his peace that Geralt realised the bitter truth behind his words. In the years that had past them by, he'd had many chances to reach out, to amend what remained of their tattered relationship and make sense of whatever this was between them. Yet he'd let those moments pass him by and had nothing to show for it but grief and a heavy sense of loss. At times, Geralt had thought about the future when night fell around him, and to him, dawn seemed brighter when she and Ciri were in sight.

The Witcher released a long and slow breath. "I've missed you, Yen..."

Yennefer stirred beside him as the stray thought tumbled from his mouth before he could catch it. When he turned his head he beheld her eyes fully for the first time since they'd stumbled upon each other in the storm. Something curious shone behind them, but he hadn't much chance to figure out what it was that he saw in them for a fire ignited in its place. He saw her beauty as he'd remembered it, cold and threatening.

"Don't lie to me, Witcher," she hissed, "You've only missed having a warm bed with someone in it you can fuck." Yennefer's lips curled into a nasty sneer as she glared at him, her eyes ablaze with a cold, blue-purple flame that made his knees go weak as he looked at it. Was that really what she thought of him? He felt sick with himself.

"You mean more to me than that, Yen-"

"Stop it! Don't call me by that name anymore, Witcher!" Geralt couldn't stand the contempt so clearly chiselled into her features and he dropped his head, chin almost touching his shirt. He stared at the floor without truly seeing it, a chill spreading across his chest and inching up his neck and down his arms and legs, seeding his body with a terrible coldness that did not falter in the heat of the morning sun. Her uneven breathing and increased heartbeat rang in his ears, pounding against his skull. He felt that this was the end, the final nail in the coffin as some would say and he couldn't understand it. Nor could he comprehend the abrupt shift in the atmosphere when he heard someone sniffle almost inaudibly.

"I thought you were dead Geralt! You let me believe that for months and it wasn't even from you that I learnt the truth. Did you not think that I cared? That I'd not lose sleep worrying about what had happened, that I'd not care to know you were alive! When I stood at Sodden I thought I had nothing left to lose anymore, and after...nothing much to live for either..."

Though she spoke with a raised voice her words were neither heated nor biting, instead, they carried an intensity that Geralt had never heard before. He hesitated before looking up, not sure what to expect. Her eyes were waiting from him and he saw that they were dulled in colour and filled with new depth that drew his gaze as he delved deep into her stare. Through the newly opened door, he caught a glimpse of how much she was hurting and of just how far his mistakes had cut her, the wounds raw and deep.

"I was afraid to read the fourteenth name on the hill..." said Geralt quietly, trailing off. He remembered his body going limp as he stood before the great stone upon Sodden hill, and how his hands shook when he traced the carvings with his finger. Several misleading rumours had reached him about Yennefer's fate in the battle and until he'd climbed the hill he'd not believed a single one. He couldn't bring himself to believe them. The few minutes that he'd spent with the thought of her death heavy in his mind and on his heart had caused indescribable pain, yet he'd suffered nothing compared to her. To think he was dead for months. Yennefer's eyes softened and he knew she understood. "I'm sorry, Yen. I never meant to hurt you." The Sorceress didn't reply but after a few seconds she slowly nodded her head, tilting it ever so slightly, but for him it was enough and he felt a small amount of relief.

"I've had a long time to convince myself otherwise, but I can't accept it anymore. I believe you, Geralt, yet the pain of these past years still remains." Yennefer's eyes glazed over and he thought he saw her face pale. She wrung her wrists absentmindedly and peered at something over his shoulder until she quickly closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The Witcher was suddenly reminded of all that Triss had told him about the battle, and of the fate that had befallen Yennefer. "Back then...I think I needed you..."

Geralt was struck dumb. He felt that he needed to say something, that whatever happened next was to be decided here and now, but though he racked his head for a response, nothing he thought of seemed right. He tried to stop thinking. "If you'd asked, I'd have come."

Yennefer looked straight through him in a way only she ever could. His heart stopped beating under her stare and the world around him came to a halt, leaving them alone in the long seconds of silence that his words had left. It felt like Sodden all over again, a sense of loss gradually loomed over him and cast its shadow upon all he could see. He felt for certain that he did not want to hear her reply and that uncertainty and loose ends would be an easier burden to carry than her parting words to him. He was glad to admit he was wrong. So very wrong.

"I believe you, Geralt. It seems that pride has made a fool of both of us."

* * *

They left for Loxia early that morning, not wishing to waste another second of the day, and of what Yennefer hoped would be the first of many moments they spent together. While she shopped for clothes for the banquet, both for herself and for Geralt who'd agreed to accompany her, she listened attentively to Ciri and the Witcher. It was not often that she heard him laugh and it was a pleasant sound to her ears, one she cherished in memory. They dinned together by the sea and Yennefer smiled often and brightly and found comfort and joy in watching Geralt's eyes light up whenever she did so. She knew that something had changed that morning, but she did not fear the differences it might bring to her life. When she and Geralt had talked truthfully and deeply under the boughs of the widow, Yennefer had felt at ease even while her wounds still bled. The conversation and been long and painful, but she felt better for it and she sensed that good changes were coming. That they could finally move forward and not back. Perhaps they'd found their something more, only time could tell, but she felt ready to face tomorrow and all it might bring.

As they made their way to their rooms, Ciri began another tale about her time in the temple and Yennefer relished the happiness that shone in Ciri's young face. It stole away all the memories of the troubles she'd faced and for a moment returned to her the childhood she'd unfairly lost. Geralt also seemed younger and more carefree than she'd remembered. She saw less of the gruff and harsh Witcher people, including himself, assumed him to be, and more of the caring and gentle man she'd grown to care deeply about. Yennefer supposed that she must have looked much different in his eyes as well, for she herself had noticed it too.

When evening drew near she and Geralt retired to their room and left Ciri under Dandelion's care, something Yennefer had only allowed because she thought the walls of Loxia were safe enough to guard her, should or rather when the Bard did not. Sitting by the dresser she combed her hair and laid out her cosmetics while Geralt, topless, watched her from the bed and caught her eye in the mirror. Yennefer smiled; she'd almost forgotten their peculiar little ritual. She was half-way through her evening preparations when, with a curse, she realised she'd left her earrings in the trunk beside their bed and called for Geralt to search for them as he was, after all, partly to blame for her blunder

"Yen, is that my shirt?" She turned around in her chair and raised her eyebrows when she saw the white bundle clutched in the Witcher's hand.

"It is," she replied, looking back at the mirror. He was still standing by the trunk when she'd finished applying her lipstick and she rolled her eyes as a smirk spread across his face. "Don't get any ideas, Geralt, I held onto it for Ciri's sake. You left it at the temple when you parted ways and the poor girl became rather fond of it. Heavens knows why."

"Umm hmmm," he muttered. Yennefer scoffed and tossed her hair. He didn't say any more about it, but after handing her the jewellery she'd requested he put on his old shirt and lay back down on the bed, staring right over her shoulder and into the mirror. He was still smiling stupidly. Yennefer ignored him and finished getting ready for the banquet, feeling grateful that she'd never been one to blush.

* * *

Another prompt done and once again I've failed to keep things short and sweet. Whelp... I hoped you enjoyed this little story, my first one set in the books (within its timeline if that makes sense). It was interesting working around what AS has already established for the scene as Ciri and Dandelion watch their conversation. I had to do some research to try and be as accurate as possible - hope I didn't disappoint!

If you liked reading this please let me know by leaving a comment (1 word or 100, doesn't matter) and/or reblogging my story on Tumblr. It's wonderful to have active readers (aka non-silent readers) and means the world to most writers, myself included. Until next time Xx

PS: Realms update next weekend :)


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